I Wish I Could Fix You And I Wish You Could Fix Me
by shingeki-no-Marukaite-Chikyuu
Summary: My life should be perfect now, I have a loving wealthy family, I should be thankful. Why do I feel like no one cares about me? Consider yourself lucky. You have not gone through hell like I have. RusCan. TRIGGER: Anorexia, cutting, rape, parental abuse, self-harm, suicide attempts, depression. It's rated M for a reason, please do not read if you can't handle it. Summary inside.


Summary

Matthew has spent his first five years of life in an orphanage, wondering why his parents left him. Then hewas adopted by Arthur and Francis Bonnefoy-Kirkland and their other adopted son, Alfred. The family rich and well off in a high-class neighborhood. Life was perfect until one day that Mathew lost all the already little hope in his life. Depression and his blades control whether he lives or dies. It does not help when you're invisible to most people too.

Ivan's family was not as wealthy as Matthew's but the same love filled though the household. That is until the death of his mother from cancer. The bills and the lack of love drove Ivan's dad into a drunken rage, punishing his children whenever possible. Unlucky for Ivan, he has a secret that he knows that his father will kill him for, his sexulatity. The abuse and friendless causes him to be intimidating and rise his anorexia, depression, and the need for self-harm.

Can these two find and heal each other and before it is too late?

My Side of the Story

I lay on my bed listening to My Chemical Romance on my Ipod and studying for my French test on Friday. Then I heard Dad call Alfred, my brother, for dinner. I take off my red headphones, roll off my bed, and walk towards the door. When I open the door the smell of burnt food fills my nostrils. _I see that Papa isn't home yet. One the house smells like it was on fire, and at least he would have remembered to invite me to dinner._

* * *

><p>Yes I have two dads and Alfred and I were adopted. I was born in Canada on July 1, and put up for adoption when I was a baby. Whenever I asked the people at the orphanage about my parents they told me they will tell me when I'm 18 or my adoptive parent will tell me, that was their policy. I still have no idea, they probably did not want a loser like me, so they gave me away. When I was five, Dad and Papa adopted me and I moved to America with them. They already had Alfred, who was born three days after me, but he is always considered the older one. I've always assumed that it was a set up adoption with Alfred. His mother could not take care of him and planned to give him to my dads when he was born. So he could have a better life. Surprisingly Dad and Papa let us keep our parents' last name, instead of changing it to Bonnefoy-Kirkland. That's why people find it hard to believe that we are siblings. He's last name is Jones and mine is Williams, very common last names. Thus making is hard to track our parental parents. My dad is an English professor at Yale college and an editor for a publishing company. My papa is fashion designer, mostly focusing on gowns and tuxedos for proms and weddings. He is very popular and gets celebrities and clients from around the world. We live in suburbia in Fair Haven Heights, New Haven, Ct in a big house, 5 bed, 8 bath, thanks to my fathers' well paying jobs. There is a patch of woods nearby our house I like to walk through it and clear my mind. We also go to Hamden Hall, a private school about 3 miles from our house.<p>

* * *

><p>I trudge down the stairs and walk into the kitchen. Alfred is gorging in his meal and Arthur greets me when I walk over to the stove. Normally we would eat in the dining room if Papa is there, but if not then we eat in the kitchen. Almost everything is either burnt or unappealing, it's a good thing that you can't screw up a salad that much.<p>

"Ahh, Mathew I thought you had practice and would not be eating with us."

"No, Dad, I do not have practice today." _I only have practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays now with marching band. It's Wednesday and hockey and yearbook has not started up yet. But they do not pay attention to me as they do for Alfred, especially you. _Dad and Papa have their favorites and they try to deny it, but it is enviable. Alfred is Dad's and I'm Papa's. Like I said before, Dad tends to forget about me, a lot.

* * *

><p>Alfred is the high school super star jock. Football, soccer, basketball, baseball, track and field, class president, and rugby to name a few. For most of them he is the captain or co-captain. I am in all the musical activities, yearbook, hockey, and lacrosse. Dad and Papa were so proud when Alfred was named soccer captain last year. "Only a freshmen and he is already a captain." Dad praised.<p>

"This calls for a celebration" Papa suggested. Later that night we went out to dinner and then out for ice cream. However when I made captain for hockey and got first trumpet in the band, they went completely unnoticed. They barely go to my games and competitions. But dare not miss one of Alfred's games.

* * *

><p>I take my seat at the table with majority of my plate consisting of salad, along with a little cooked and burnt rice mixed together, and a half burnt chicken breast covered in different spices. I pick at my food a little bit before Alfred starts the dinner conversation. "Hey Dad, where's Papa?"<p>

"He's still at work. He called me earlier. Apparently he has a real bridezilla, who keeps changing her mind on what she wants for her gown."

"Okay, Dad" he responses with a slight disappointment in his voice. I close my eyes so Dad does not see my eye roll and gain suspicion. Alfred and I have figured out that when Papa normally says that he'll be late, he's cheating on Dad. The thought makes the memories float back into my head, making my stomach turn. I don't feel like eating anymore of my horrible dinner.

"Dad, may I please be excused. I'm not that hungry." I ask.

I can see a slight bit of disappointment in his face since I have not eaten all his delicious dinner. "Are you sure? You barely had any of my braised chicken with figs, honey and vinegar. Are feeling all right?" Dad walks over to me and places his hand on my forehead. "You're not warm. Are you sure everything is okay."

"Yes, Dad, I'm just not that hungry." I leave the table and walk towards the stairs. Once I out of sight and hearing, I run up the stairs to my room. I floponto my bed, searching under my pillow for a tiny wooden box that I make in 7th grade wood shop. I finally find it and run to the bathroom that adjoins Alfred's and my bedrooms. I lock the doors and open the box with a red maple leaf on the top. Inside are my collection of blades, pins, needles, and other small sharp objects that I have hoarded for about five years now. Ever since that day and I started this horrible habit. I know, I can kill myself with the wrong swipe, but the rush and the actual blood seeping from my arms and legs releases the hurt and pain inside. I pick a blade, I want to see blood immediately. Needles and pins I use for a quick release or to write negative words on my body. I roll up my sleeve to reveal the multiple scars and cuts I have caused to myself. I inhale as the cold blade touches my skin. I slash at my skin and the blood rolls from my skin. I wince at the impact, but the pain releases my stress and fear. I once slice once at my skin. I do not know how long it will be before Alfred comes up and catches me. I wash off the blood and bandage my new cut.

I'd admit, I've had a few close calls with Alfred catching me cutting myself. A lot more recently too. I want to cut on my thighs more so he won't gain suspicion. However, my legs are raw with scars from the summer. i want some of them to heal before cutting my legs again. Plus its fall and winter in not too far behind. It will be easier to hide my arm scars with layers.

I lie in my bed trying to focus on French again. Nevertheless, the memories of that one day haunts me. _Why can't Papa just be happy with Dad? Why does he has to satisfy his needs with other women? If Dad ever finds out again, my life will be hell again. _Eventually, I pass out.


End file.
